#devd

[air-rising]

I love Ellie. Daan is soooo lucky

she knows 😋

[retrocesosdestacion]

HOLLOW-HEARTED PHASES | daniëlle van de donk.

daniëlle van de donk x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: 🤷‍♀️

notes: written for this request.

SUMMARY: Danielle finds herself in frustration after a match. You are the only answer for her.

In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.

kafka.

❝ Will you tell me what happened? ❞ You don't expect Daan to be comprehensible right now. Yet it's worth a try.

❝ Nothing. It was just an misfortune. ❞ She answer in a not-so-assertive tone. It was kind of obvious how difficult it was for the Dutch woman to lie to you.

❝ It wasn't just this, you got a really bad yellow card, Liefde. ❞

Van de Donk and accident in the same situation was something common, relying on the point of view. And a lot of those times, it was funny.

She was tired, you were too; Sweating and ravenous, you too; Danielle was completely worn out from the match, and so were you. Mutually in post games, that was what made you two so close.

Playing alongside the midfielder every week managed to be entertaining, mainly due to each unusual circumstance that Danielle brought to you.

Settling such complications was your job. And at this moment was not different.

❝ At least explain it to me, please! ❞ You beg, pulling the first stool you could get and sat down in front of your partner; implying you wouldn't be leaving anytime soon until you resolved this.

❝ Do you think bumping into someone is so reckless as to get a yellow card? ❞ She started. ❝ Nowadays they are accepting anyone as a referee! ❞

She gestured every second, her dutch accent made the whole situation even funnier.

The only reaction you could have was to laugh at it all. ❝ It contigent on the intensity, actually. ❞ You say amidst giggling. ❝ And well, I know you. ❞

❝ I didn't do anything wrong! ❞ Danielle sounded like she wanted to prove a point. ❝ It’s not my fault if she unexpectedly appeared near me... ❞

❝ Okay, I take your word for it. ❞ In fact, your lips were a little erroneous, you saw how the midfielder purposely pushed the rival player at that time and could uncertainly defend Daan.

She raised her eyebrows involuntarily and jiggle her face, not hiding the evidence that she didn't fall for your fallacious chit-chat.

You gradually reached for the dutch woman's hands, probing each of her fingers; then caressing them.

Suddenly Van de Donk was equal to a carefree sea; a pelago that had just experienced a storm. The midfielder's eyes were devoted to yours, glinting more and more with each passing second.

Even though Danielle always left in a temper after incidents like this, you had the unparalleled ability to alleviate her. Whether just with your presence or caresses.

❝ How about… Next time you bump into someone more carefully, hm? ❞ You muttered, bringing your face inches closer to the midfielder. ❝ Or better yet, not bumping into the person is also a great option! ❞

Your thumbs slowly slid over the skin of other woman’s fingers, trying to comfort her while at the same time considering a clarification for all of this.

❝ In conclusion, not retaliating to a provocation is what you're telling me. ❞ Danielle articulated calmly.

❝ ...Yeah, almost that. ❞ You replied, withdrawn from your previous speech. ❝And also, you’ve been a lot… ❞

❝ Stressed? ❞ She concluded by cutting off your words, even though she was aware that such emotion was not true.

❝ I wasn't going to say that. ❞

❝ Yes, you would. ❞

You took a while to answer, since deep down it was more of a truth.

❝ No… I was going to say that you have been very frustrated and nervous lately. ❞

❝ It's the same thing. ❞ Daan had a silly smile on her face, clear how she was enjoying a game with you.

Your lips locked before commenting something, daring extra time to think of words to please her.

The palm of your left hand was the first touch to the dutch woman's face after disregarding her fingers, now giving light gentle taps. ❝ Who knows, maybe behind your little face it’s all the same! ❞

Van de Donk's fortunate laugh was delightful to hear, like a pleasant sound you rarely find amidst the chaos of an urban city; like your girlfriend.

The dutch girl got a enjoyable laugh out of your face whenever she could, and you got the occasional warm fervor. It was a cycle, and you had everything to do with it.

❝ I'll take that as a compliment. ❞ Daan articulated happily, slowly pressing her own fingers over yours; those who were snuggled against the dutch woman's face.

❝ Better now? ❞ You ask, wondering how Danielle was calmer than before.

❝ Possibly yes. ❞ She reply, inhibited by previous actions.

The shorter woman looked down demurely. But honestly, anyone gets irritated, especially by situations like this. Daan had every right to be upset about this, after all, you would be there.

Your fingers, from both of your hands, placed themselves on the other woman's face. You compress lightly so that you could move the other person's face closer to you.

Danielle had her typical confused look, but also aware of the affectionate attitude. A short beam shines on your face, accompanied by a pleasant chuckle before your lips touch the other person's skin.

You placed a short peck on the tip of the dutch woman's nose, immediately going to her lips, giving her another peck. Centimeters away from the other person's face, being able to even feel de Donk's warm and agitated breath.

❝ If that's okay, how about we get together with the girls, then we go out for drinks and find something to eat. ❞ You murmur after the affectionate act.

❝ If you say so… We can. ❞ Daan answer, sounding like she's still trying to recover from the affection; with the silly smile printed on her face. ❝ To be honest, I'm hungry. ❞

One or twenty years can pass, the dutch woman always becomes the silliest person in the world when she receives your affection.

❝ How about that new restaurant that just opened? ❞ You make a suggestion. ❝ Vanessa felt like eating pasta these days! ❞

Despite Van de Donk being a difficult woman to deal with on the pitch, off there and for you, it was like an easy puzzle to put together.

Danielle could stress a thousand times, but you would always get her back no matter what.

❝ Sounds fun! ❞ She responds one last time before gradually rising from the bench where she was sitting.

The midfielder pulled your hands, so she could help you when you got up. It didn't take long for you to act and do the same, even though you were extremely tired.

Daan still had her index fingers intertwined with yours, her eyes needed to make minimal effort when looking up, where she could look affectionately at you.

She took a while to say something, and honestly, Danielle's eyes darted to your face and without saying anything made you a little nervous.

You gave a confused grin.

❝ Thank you for that. ❞ Van de Donk mutters.

❝ …For what, exactly? ❞

❝ For being with me, by my side. I don't know how I would react to things without you. ❞ She articulates through the small laughs she lets out.

Without realizing it, your confused smile became happy, small compliments coming from your girlfriend were a relief; a victory.

Your silly smirk that burned your cheeks didn't allow you to answer, but made you act embarrassed. Your lefty raised up, so you could try to camouflage this stupid smile.

❝ Why are you smiling so much?! ❞ Daan chortled, tilting her head confusedly to the side.

❝ Nothing, nothing. ❞

ᅠ

[batllethinker]

The way it was Ellie that proposed ?? Hello

[just-woso-stuff]

Fun fact: Taylor Swift wrote You Are in Love about Danielle van de Donk and Ellie Carpenter

[x-press-it]

Should the Need Arise

Just a casual thing... untils it’s not.🎞️❤️‍🔥🖤🌹✅

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You spent the night on your phone and Bucky, your roommate and best friend, provides you with a nice distraction. But there will be consequences.

Content Warnings: Smut 18+ | Explicit scenes (Handjob - M & F receiving, Oral sex - F receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms - Kitchen sex) - Pet Names (Sweetheart, no Doll) - Fluff and Emotional Vulnerability: Deep feelings, mutual pining - Angst (if you squint) - Reader Notes: No Y/N, no physical description of the reader, no mention of powers - Trope: And they were roommates.

Tell me if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: I'm one of those people who start reading stuff on their phone around mindnight and before they know it, it's morning. My husband's tactic to stop me scrolling is to ask for a hug, which distracts me and make me fall asleep. That sparked this little idea which has been sitting on a sticky note for months. I'm still stuck on chapter 8 of DevDes and the start of this year has been really taxing, so I'm in total lockdown mode. But I had a few hours and needed a distraction, so here you go! ^^

Word Count: 5.3K

MINORS DNI

"And then, below the cover of darkness, her hand curled around the hard evidence of his desire." ——— Thanks for reading, lovelies. Don’t forget to like, comment and reblog! Edit! >>Click here for part 2<<

You’re sprawled on your stomach, the unfolded couch now a makeshift bed for your typical Friday night tradition—movies with your roommate. The TV is off, long forgotten, leaving only the faint glow of your phone screen to cut through the darkness. The soft hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen and his relaxed breath are the only sounds filling your ears.

Your finger taps the screen, finding the link to Part 2 of the spicy story you’ve been reading. Your eyes are half-lidded, exhaustion tugging at your mind, but you refuse to give in. The distant chirp of birds signals the rise of the sun, yet you remain tethered to the words on your phone. Your gaze flickers across the sentences, hypnotized by the story that’s got you in its grasp. Heat stirs low in your belly, and your breath hitches as the intoxicating words pull you deeper into their world, your body aching for something you crave but don’t dare to name.

Once again, what was meant to be a late-night escape has turned into a sunrise affair. You blink lazily, trying to shake off the haze clouding your thoughts. A yawn creeps up on you, but you swallow it down, unwilling to let the allure of the story fade.

It’s only then that you feel the warmth pressing gently against your side—too familiar to be anything other than him. A sleepy voice rumbles near your ear, husky and thick with sleep.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.” His breath stirs against your hair. “Need a hug or something to get you away from that phone?”

His voice rumbles against your scalp, sending a slow shiver down your spine. The warmth at your side shifts, his solid chest pressing more firmly against you, the heat of his breath tickling your temple.

You blink blearily at the screen, trying to refocus, but your grip on your phone falters for a second. Damn him and his sleep-heavy voice.

"I'm fine," you murmur, though the words come out softer than intended, laced with drowsiness.

Bucky makes a noise—something between a hum and a quiet huff—but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he settles in further, one heavy arm draping loosely over your back where your shirt has slightly rolled up, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin. His nose brushes your ear, and you feel him inhale deeply, like he's grounding himself in your scent.

"Later," you add, shifting slightly but making no real effort to move him off. "Just let me finish this chapter."

"Mm," Bucky acknowledges, but his arm tightens, his body molding against yours as if he's not quite ready to let go. The weight of him is solid, reassuring.

Another minute passes. Then two. Your scrolling slows, words blurring together as your body betrays you, sinking into the comforting heat of his embrace.

You barely realize when your fingers go slack, your phone slipping from your grip onto the mattress. A quiet sigh escapes your lips, and Bucky shifts again, pressing even closer.

"You’re still awake," he murmurs, his voice quieter this time, like he's almost back to sleep.

You swallow. "So are you."

A pause. Then, in a voice rough with something you can’t quite place, he admits, "Had a nightmare."

Your heart squeezes a little at that. Of course he did. You should have known—the way he clings, the way his breathing is a little too measured, like he's trying to calm himself down.

Without thinking, you reach up, your fingers brushing against his arm. A soothing motion. A small comfort.

"Do you need a hug?" you whisper.

For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, he exhales against your skin.

"Yeah," he says, barely above a breath.

And that’s all it takes.

You turn, pressing your face into the solid warmth of his chest, wrapping an arm around his back as he pulls you in with one slow, deliberate motion. He’s warm—so warm—and the way he holds you feels different this time. Tighter. Closer. Less like a friendly gesture and more like need.

And then—then you feel it.

The realization hits slow, creeping up the back of your neck, settling like a weight in your stomach. Because Bucky—your best friend, your roommate—is holding you too close. His breathing is uneven. And pressed against your thigh is the unmistakable hardness of something definitely not platonic.

Silence.

You don't move.

Neither does he.

The air between you thickens, heavy with something raw and unspoken. The world holds its breath. Until—

A sound. A quiet, almost reluctant groan that escapes from deep in his chest as your body shifts ever so slightly against him.

That’s when it happens.

That’s when you realize—you’re just as affected as he is.

Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading like a slow, consuming fire. You were already wound up from the smut you’d been reading, already feeling that restless ache thrumming beneath your skin—but now?

Now, every inch of you is hyperaware of him.

The solid weight of his body, the heat seeping from his bare skin, the way his fingers tense against your hip, like he’s trying to stop himself from gripping. The air is thick, electric, humming with something you’ve both been too blind—or too stubborn—to acknowledge until now.

And then it happens again.

A barely-there shift, just enough to press you against the unmistakable hardness straining under his sweatpants.

Your breath hitches.

Bucky stills.

Another realization crashes over you both at the exact same time, flooding every nerve ending like a shock to the system.

You’re needy.

He’s needy.

But neither of you wants to move away.

His fingers tighten on your hip. The warmth of his breath fans across your face, heavy and uneven. You don’t know who’s trembling—you or him—but the weight of the moment is crushing, suffocating in the best, most dangerous way.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, begging to be broken.

So you do.

"Need help with that?" Your voice is light—too light, too teasing for the way your pulse pounds in your throat.

Bucky makes a sound, something between a groan and a curse, low and rough, barely restrained. His grip flexes, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his fingers press harder, his body coiling tight with something desperate, something aching.

"You sure?" His voice is wrecked, gravel against silk, the weight of his need unmistakable.

Your body throbs at the sound of it.

And yet, you force yourself to smirk, masking the sheer want clawing up your spine with something playful. Safer.

"Just like we share everything else," you murmur, tilting your chin up just slightly, lips brushing against the scruff of his jaw. "Why not this?"

He exhales sharply through his nose, his whole body going rigid. You swear you can feel the exact moment his restraint snaps.

Bucky doesn’t give you time to second-guess it. Doesn’t leave space for hesitation.

One second, he’s hovering there, like he’s still teetering on the edge of a decision. The next, his mouth is crushing against yours, devouring, famished.

It’s not careful. It’s not soft. It’s not the kind of first kiss that belongs to roommates, to friends.

It’s months of unspoken tension igniting all at once.

His hands find your waist, pressing you against him like he can’t bear a second of space between you. The heat of him, the solid muscle beneath your palms, the sheer force of his need—it makes your head spin.

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss, making your toes curl. Your fingers travel below the hem of his shirt, sinking into the bare skin of his back, nails digging in, pulling him closer, and fuck, the groan that rumbles from his chest makes something inside you clench.

He shifts again, pressing even more into you, against you, and you don’t know who’s chasing who anymore—all you know is that you need.

And he's right there with you.

The next few minutes blur into feverish hands and frantic fumbling—pushing, pulling, eager to rid yourselves of the barriers between you. There’s no finesse, no slow unraveling of tension, no teasing build-up. Just raw, aching need.

Because if either of you stops to think—if you pause, even for a second—it’ll mean facing something bigger, something heavier.

That this isn’t just some casual release.

That it isn’t about a moment of fleeting desperation.

It’s about him. About you. About the way you’ve been craving each other so much for so long it’s almost unbearable.

Bucky doesn’t give you time to process it. Doesn’t give himself time either.

Because that can’t be what this is about.

It can only be about getting off. About helping each other. About making use of what’s already here, right within reach.

And fuck, does Bucky reach.

He takes.

And you let him.

Your breath hitches as his fingers yank at the waistband of your panties, dragging them down in a single, impatient motion. There’s no hesitation, no teasing. You barely have time to kick them off before his flesh hand finds the warmth between your thighs, his fingers dipping past your soaked folds, sliding against your slick entrance.

A sharp gasp shudders from your lips.

Then—his thumb.

A slow, deliberate circle over your clit.

Your hips jolt, a whimper spilling into the space between you, and Bucky grunts—low, guttural, like the sound coming from you alone has his cock twitching against his stomach.

But you’re not just going to let him do all the work.

Your fingers curl around the hard, pulsing weight of him, wrapping around the evidence of his need, and fuck, the way he groans, the way his forehead drops to your shoulder, his entire body tensing at the first stroke—

It’s everything.

There’s nothing practiced about this. No perfect rhythm, no choreographed movements. It’s frantic, messy, like two people making up for lost time. Like a pent-up first time, all rushed hands and ragged breathing and the unmistakable sound of slick heat and aching friction.

It’s clumsy.

It’s reckless.

It’s so fucking good.

Your fingers work him in a tight, steady rhythm, coaxing more wrecked sounds from his throat. His metal arm is braced above your head, elbow digging into the cushion as his flesh hand thrusts against you—two fingers slipping inside, stretching you, filling you in a way that has your whole body tightening around the intrusion.

He groans against your skin, breath hot and heavy.

"So fuckin’ good," he mutters, voice thick with arousal, strained like he’s barely holding himself together.

His admission is ruinous. It crashes over you, sends you spiraling, because you can hear it in his voice—the raw need, the way he’s coming apart just as much as you are.

"Don’t stop," you whisper, rolling your hips into his touch, stroking him just a little tighter, just a little faster, reveling in the way his whole body shudders in response.

His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that has you gasping, thighs squeezing around his hand, and—

Oh, fuck.

You’re so close.

And so is he.

"Bucky—"

His name barely escapes your lips before his fingers curl just right—deep, precise, pressing into that perfect spot inside you, and you snap.

A ragged cry spills from your throat, your body locking up as pleasure rips through you, white-hot and relentless. Your thighs tremble, hips jerking against his hand, riding out every pulse of ecstasy as Bucky works you through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you.

"Fuck!" he grits out, voice wrecked, strained.

Your grip tightens around him, your strokes turning messy, desperate, driven by instinct and the lazy aftershocks still rolling through your limbs.

He shudders.

"Shit, sweetheart—gonna—"

His words dissolve into a groan, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as his whole body tenses—then jerks as he spills over your hand, thick, hot pulses coating your fingers. His breath stutters against your skin, his hips twitching into your touch, every ragged exhale laced with the kind of relief that has you smirking despite your own lingering haze.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sound in the room is your mingled, uneven breathing—the heavy silence of two people still caught in the aftershocks, still tangled together, still feeling each other even as the intensity fades.

The stillness stretches. Then, Bucky huffs out a breathless laugh, the weight of his forehead still resting against your shoulder.

"Well," Bucky murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion, amusement curling at the edges. "That’s one way to get you to put your damn phone down."

You huff a breathless laugh, still trying to get your heart rate under control. "Yeah? Gonna start using that tactic every time I get too into a story?"

He smirks, finally lifting his head, eyes still dark with the remnants of pleasure. "If it works, sweetheart, I just might."

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the tissue box on the coffee table, grabbing a few before passing him some. As you clean up, you glance at him, voice turning teasing, but softer. "Did it help?"

His brows furrow slightly. "What?"

You tilt your head, gaze knowing. "The nightmare."

For a second, something flickers in his expression. Surprise. Maybe even a little…fondness. But then, his lips twist into a crooked smile, the moment slipping away before it can settle too deep.

"Yeah," he admits, voice a little hoarse. "Didn’t even remember it ‘til you brought it up, so… guess that’s a win."

You nod, satisfied, and toss your tissues into the wastebasket nearby before tugging your underwear and pants back into place. He follows suit, the two of you moving in sync—like this is normal, like this isn’t the first time you’ve crossed this particular line.

"So," you say, stretching your arms above your head with a lazy grin. "We’re both single, right?"

Bucky raises a brow as he pushes the hem of his shirt back. "Pretty sure."

"Good. Means we can be single together… Should the need arise."

He snorts, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch. "That’s the dumbest way to say ‘roommates with benefits’ I’ve ever heard."

"Yeah, well," you chuckle, flopping down beside him. "Not my fault you never had the nerve to ask me out."

His hand rests over his chest, eyes flicking to yours, something unreadable flashing there before he huffs a laugh. "Too late now, huh?"

You smirk, nudging his side. "Guess you’ll just have to settle for this instead."

He snorts, shifting lower against the cushions, his body still warm beside yours. "Tragic."

The sleep creeps back into your bones, heavy and insistent, and as your eyes flutter shut, you feel Bucky’s fingers brush absently against your arm—nothing deliberate, just a mindless touch, lingering.

Neither of you moves away.

And in the quiet, just before sleep pulls you under, you hear him murmur—so soft you almost miss it...

"Could be worse."

For days after, everything shifts.

Not in some obvious, earth-shattering way. No; that would be too easy. Instead, it’s in the small things. The lingering touches, the glances that last too long, the air between you oppressive with something unsaid—something you both refuse to acknowledge.

It’s in the hesitation when Bucky sits beside you now, his thigh just barely pressing against yours instead of sprawling out like he used to. In the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out but doesn’t. In the split-second glance at your lips when you talk, so fast you almost miss it. Almost.

It’s in the way you catch yourself staring when he’s fresh out of the shower, towel slung around his neck, damp strands of hair curling at the ends. How your breath catches when he stretches, when his shirt rides up, when he runs a hand through his hair with that sleepy, careless ease.

It’s in the moments where you brush past each other in the kitchen, the heat of his body too noticeable. When you hand him a mug, and your fingers touch, and neither of you pulls away immediatly. When you shift to get comfortable on the couch, and instead of scooting over, his arm drapes over the back like it belongs there.

It’s in the loaded silences, the way your conversations don’t flow as effortlessly as before—like you’re both tiptoeing around something huge, something fragile.

But above all, it’s in the restraint. The careful distance. The way you both pull back at the last second, pretending this is still normal. That it’s just what it was before.

Because if either of you acknowledges it, if either of you dares to name it, it’ll be real. And real means risk. It means change. It means no going back.

So you don’t.

Instead, you let your fingers skim his when you pass him the remote. You let his knee press against yours and pretend you don’t feel the heat of it seep into your skin, pooling low in your stomach. You bite your tongue when you see him clench his jaw, his grip tightening on whatever he’s holding, like he’s fighting something off.

And when you catch him watching you—when your eyes meet in a moment that stretches too long—you do the only thing you can do.

You look away.

Because if you don’t…

You’re not sure you’ll be able to stop yourself next time.

It happens on a day when you need him.

Not in the way you’ve both been avoiding. Not in the way that comes with tangled sheets and breathless gasps. You just… need him. The way you used to. The steady warmth, the easy comfort, the feeling of knowing there’s someone who has your back no matter what.

So you find him. Seek him out like muscle memory, like instinct, letting your body pull you toward the one place that has always been safe.

And when you reach for him, when your fingers brush against his sleeve, expecting him to fold you into his arms the way he always has...

He flinches.

It’s small. Barely there. Just a fraction of a movement, the slightest pull-back, but you feel it. The space he puts between you, deliberate, careful. Like a closed door.

It stings.

No, it burns.

Like an open wound, like something torn deep inside your chest. You retract your hand like he’s struck you, fingers curling into a fist at your side, something ugly twisting in your stomach.

"You’ve changed." The words are sharp, cutting through the thick, heavy air between you. Frustration bubbles up, mixing with the ache in your ribs, spilling over before you can stop it. "Since when do we not—" You swallow, searching for the right words, something that won’t make this worse. "Since when did we stop reaching out to each other?"

Bucky’s expression tightens, his fingers twitching like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. "I haven’t changed." His voice is a little louder than it should be, a little too defensive, his jaw clenching as he shakes his head. "Everything’s still the same!"

You snicker. Bitter. Unamused.

Because it’s a lie.

Because you both know everything is different. Nothing has been the same since that night.

The words slip past your lips before you can think better of them. "I wish nothing had happened!"

The moment they’re out, you regret them.

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. His stomach plummets. Your heart aches, raw and exposed. Because it’s not really a lie, is it? It’s an admission disguised as a negation. You don’t wish nothing had happened. You just wish it hadn’t changed everything.

His eyes darken, something dangerous flickering behind them as he takes a step closer. "And I just wish it would happen again!"

Your breath catches.

Neither of you moves at first. Stunned by his confession, by the weight of the truth hanging between you.

Until—

The tension snaps.

You crash into each other.

It’s hungry, voracious, a collision of frustration and longing, hands grasping, mouths claiming. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. No pretending.

Because you both know now—this was never just casual.

It never could be.

Once again, it starts with hands.

Grasping. Pulling. Needing.

You collide in a mess of mouths and limbs, desperation threading through every movement. Clothes are in the way, frustrating, barriers you can’t rip off fast enough.

The kitchen counter is suddenly at your back, hard and unyielding, but you don’t care. Not when he’s right there, caging you in, his body a wall of heat and need. His lips are insistent, greedy, dragging over yours before tracing down the column of your throat, teeth scraping as he works his way lower, lower—

By the time he reaches your waistband, his breath is ragged.

And when he does… he grips.

Fingers digging into fabric, ripping at it, dragging your pants and underwear down in one sharp tug. The cold air barely has a chance to hit your skin before his palms are on your thighs, prying them open, his breath hot against sensitive flesh.

"Bucky—"

The sound of his name, breathy, needy, from your lips, has something snapping in him.

He groans, hands tightening, before his mouth descends.

Teeth graze over the soft skin of your inner thigh, nipping, teasing, torturing—

You gasp, hips jerking forward, trying to push him where you need him, but he holds you there, spreading you wider, his fingers pressing into your flesh, his lips moving painfully slow.

"You always taste this sweet, sweetheart?" His voice is wicked, lips brushing over where you’re burning for him, but not quite giving in yet.

You whine.

You fucking whine.

And that does it.

He groans, deep and ravenous.

Before you know it, his tongue lashes against you, hot and wet and precise.

The cry that rips from your throat is immediate. Loud. Unfiltered.

And he doesn’t stop.

He buries himself between your thighs like a man who’s been starving for this—licking, sucking, devouring—his tongue flicking over that sensitive bundle of nerves before circling back, just to make you squirm.

One of your hands flies to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, tugging, pulling. He groans at that, like he likes it, and the vibration sends a shock wave of pleasure straight through you.

You can’t think.

Can’t breathe.

Your thighs shake, heels digging into his back, hips rocking against his mouth. Chasing the friction, chasing release.

"Bucky—fuck—"

He growls against you, hands tightening, dragging you even closer, like he wants you to fall apart for him, like he won’t let you go until you do.

So he seals his lips around your clit and sucks.

And the pressure breaks you.

Rapture crashes through you in a white-hot wave, ripping you apart at the seams, your body tensing before shattering, a strangled, shameless cry tearing from your lips as you come undone.

But he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, savoring, groaning against your soaked skin like he’s getting drunk off you, only pulling back when your tremors start to ease.

When he finally lifts his head, his lips are shiny with you, his pupils blown black, chest heaving.

"Fuckin’ gorgeous," he rasps, hands still holding your thighs open, like he’s not done yet.

And from the way he’s looking at you?

You knows he isn’t.

His mouth doesn’t leave you.

Even as you shudder beneath him, body still trembling from the force of your release, he devours you—kissing his way up your stomach, dragging his lips over the flushed skin of your chest, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your breasts where they spill over your bra.

He savors.

Teeth grazing over your collarbone, tongue flicking against your pulse, feeling it race beneath his lips as he works his way higher.

Until his mouth crashes against yours.

You taste yourself on his tongue, heady and intoxicating, but it isn’t enough. The ache inside you is still there, deep and insistent, clawing at your insides, demanding more.

Your fingers fumble at the waistband of his pants, rapacious, needing to feel him, to have him closer. He groans into your mouth, a deep, desperate sound, before tearing the offending layers away—kicking off his pants, his boxers, until nothing is between you anymore.

Suddenly he’s there, thick and hard against your soaked heat, and—

"Please," you breathe, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands pulling at his back, urging him closer, needing him to just—

He grits his teeth, chest heaving, his control thin, so razor-thin—

In one swift motion, he sinks in.

A deep, guttural moan rips from his throat as he buries himself inside you, stretching you so exquisitely that your breath catches, your nails digging into his skin.

"Jesus—fuck—" His head drops against your shoulder, jaw clenched, body trembling as he stills, giving you time to adjust, to take all of him, because fuck, you feel like heaven, like you were made for him, for this.

It’s overwhelming.

The warmth of you wrapped so tight around him, the way your body clenches in need, the way you shifts, hips rolling impatiently against his—

"Move," you whine, breath hot against his ear, you voice wrecked, needy.

He swears, low and gravelly, his resolve snapping.

And without any warning, he moves.

The first thrust is slow, purposeful, pushing deep before dragging back out, his breath catching at the way you whimpers, at the way your fingers scramble at his back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Faster.

Each movement deeper, more greedy, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, worshiping every inch of you like you’re the only thing that’s real.

"Fuck—Buck—"

Your voice is wrecked, breathless, and the way you respond to him, the way you move with him, meeting each thrust like you need it as much as he does—

He can’t keep it in.

"Dreamt of this," he rasps against your throat, his hips rolling, his movements turning more urgent, more hungry. "For so fucking long."

Your breath catches, your nails dig deeper, dragging down his spine, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter, grinding into you just right—

"It’s everything," he pants, lips brushing your ear, the words tumbling out unrestrained, raw. "Everything I wanted—everything I needed—and more…"

His rhythm stutters for a beat, his body pressing closer, his forehead dropping against yours as the confession spills from his lips before he can stop it—

"Fuck! I love you."

Silence.

You gasp, a soft, startled sound, your eyes flying open to meet his—

But he doesn’t stop.

"I love you," he breathes again, hips still rocking into you, deep and intentional, his hand cupping the side of your face. "God, I love you so much—"

Something inside you breaks.

Because you feel it—

Every single word, every touch, every movement.

He means it.

Before you can realize it, your lips crash into his.

It’s not just ardent. It’s everything.

The tension snaps again, your bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, in perfect sync, like he was always meant to fit inside you like this.

Like he was always meant to be yours.

Your lips crush against his once more, a messy, heated clash of tongues and teeth, your hands gripping at his shoulders, clawing at his back, pulling him deeper, closer, like you want to consume him whole.

And fuck, he lets you.

Because he’s gone—utterly wrecked, completely undone by you, unraveling in the best way by how you move against him, by how your body clings to his like you never want to let go.

"Say it again," you gasp against his lips, your nails digging into his scalp, your hips arching to meet his every thrust.

His breath catches, his rhythm faltering just slightly as his hand cradles your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek before tilting your chin up—forcing you to look at him.

He swallows hard, his breath coming in ragged pulls before the words slip from his lips.

"I love you."

The words fall from his mouth like a vow, raw and unshakable, and the way you shudder against him, the way your thighs tighten around his waist—fuck, he swears he almost loses it right then and there.

But it isn’t enough.

He needs you to know.

He presses his forehead to yours, voice rough and gravelly, each thrust deliberate, deep, meant to brand his confession into your very bones.

"I love you."

"I fucking love you."

"Always have—"

Your breath stutters, your body trembling, breaking apart against him, and the second he feels you start to tighten, that perfect, fluttering squeeze around him—

He loses it.

His rhythm turns desperate, his jaw going slack, moans pouring freely from his lips as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release as you fall apart against him, his name tumbling from your lips like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

And when you clench around him, when your body pulls him in so perfectly—he follows.

The pleasure slams into him hard, ripping through his limbs like a live wire, his movements stuttering as he buries himself deep, his head dropping to your shoulder once again as he spills into you with a ragged, shuddering groan.

Neither of you move for a long moment.

Just the sound of your heavy breaths, your heartbeats pounding wildly against each other covering the hum of the fridge, his arms trembling where he braces against the countertop, barely keeping himself upright.

Your fingers—soft, slow, tender—trace up his back, slipping into his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. A shiver racks through him, his body melting into yours.

He groans, shifting slightly, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, his breath still ragged, uneven.

"You okay?" he rasps, voice wrecked, rough.

A soft, breathy laugh.

"I think you just made me forget how to breathe," you murmur, fingers still playing lazily with his hair.

That makes him smirk, pulling back just enough to look at you, to drink you in—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair a mess from his hands.

And fuck, you’re gorgeous, breathtaking, an absolute vision.

His heart clenches.

"Good," he murmurs, tilting his head, brushing his nose against yours, his voice softer now. "Because you just made me forget how to do anything but love you."

And the look in your eyes—

That wrecks him more than anything ever could.

For a moment, the world feels suspended.

Just the sound of your breaths, still ragged and uneven, your bodies tangled together, your heartbeats still thudding, frantic and wild.

His arms are trembling, barely keeping himself upright as he stays buried deep inside you, forehead pressed against yours, lips hovering just above your own.

And fuck, he should move—should say something, anything, but he can’t, because you’re looking at him—

Like he’s something precious.

Something you can’t bear to lose.

You take a shaky breath, your hands smoothing down his back, holding him close.

"I love you too, Bucky."

It’s soft, barely above a whisper, but it wrecks him—

Shatters him, undoes him, because—

Fuck.

You mean it.

He can see it, feel it, in the way your fingers brush through his hair, in the way your hands run down his spine, keeping him pressed against you, in the way your lips part, like you wants to say more—

But he doesn’t let you.

Because he’s kissing you before you can even take another breath—deep and slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize you, like he’s trying to make up for all the times he wanted to do this and held back.

Like he never wants to stop.

And maybe—

Maybe he never will.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don’t forget to follow the tags “xpressit writings” to stay tuned for more stories 😁

[lilygoat]

Devdes-LPZ.deviantart.com

[wekrdotin]

Bimal Roy: The Genius Who Changed Indian Cinema Forever | Bimal Roy Devd...

[oxiegoeimi]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Andrew Cortez Cayanan (@oxiegoeimi)

Art| Alone on the wather

Artist| DEVDES-LPZ

Beneath each stage of development remains that face presented to a world starving for hope. Bare and helpless, her or his heart projected wonder. Conditioned to take the world on not because the soul was useless in its dream state, yesterdays were smothered by progress. With too much to handle, emotions were sacrificed to breathe. Before some knew it, their mirrors were left behind to survive time. Relationships and experiences were suffocated by needing to be acceptable. Life was replaced by an invisible prison that had no language to share with others. So, what was the use? Were normalcy and status worth such cost? As seasons passed, capacities to sustain progress waned. Eventually, they were replaced and forgotten. Visions of life after the grind became nightmares as nature took its course. Right behind them? Persons falling into the same traps. So, they tried to steer others clear of such folly. Messages were conveyed but ignored. History repeated through another generation. Against the grain, let’s not turn it positive. Despite its power, resist categorizing philosophically. It’s okay to let drama remain unedited. Don’t spiritualize everything even if it makes digesting slowly dying easier. Observations aren’t always meant to lead us to something else … Broken hearts and shattered psyches hide beneath layers of adulthood. What’s not okay is rationalization and justification. If it hurts, hurt. When you can’t stand feeling, go numb. As things fall apart, so do our spirits. The truth? Existence unfiltered is messy. We’re flawed, imperfect, tired, and always needing to reach something else. In such darkness; there’s a constant whose worth never increased, can’t be erased, and will forever remain the same. We were always enough.

- oxiegoeimi

#time 11.1 🦁🏳🔐💙 remember to always #trust #nature 🌲 #Healer 🔥 #Spirit 🕊 #hope ⚜️ #grace ☔️ #love 🌸 #life 🌊 #unity 🌈 #believe 💝 #weareone ✂️🕚🎶 #energy #PinkySwear #prayer #meditation #freelove #hereandhereafter #dream #vision #Eternity #paradise #infinity #light #origin #writing #source journey #create #coexist #together 💜🌠🌅🌟

[air-rising]

Not saying I love being right but…I love being right 🪐

[postsofbabel]

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[batllethinker]

Sobbing

[retrocesosdestacion]

devd fic plss?

i haven't written for a long time 🤏, but i can do! i just need to wait for an idea to pop into ma head

[x-press-it]

... 💖 🥕 💥?? 👀 eh?

Thank you, sis' 😁

I had turned off my ask box for some reason I can't remember but I fixed it. It's open again.

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

So my writing goal for this year is to finish a few stories XD

The first on the list is DevDes if that's not done before the first of January, then Sleepwalker and also Lucid Dreams.

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

I'm always trying to improve and, so far, I have squished everything I didn't like in my writing. Of course I'm still finding stuff to perfect but the thing I really want to master is the 'show don't tell'.

Most of the time I feel like if I just describe things, emotions especialy, people may get confused and don't understand what I mean because they are not in my head.

So I would say perfect the 'show don't tell' in a way the readers get what is in my head XD

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Damn! When I recieved this ask, I was currently working on a 'sneak peek' post XD

You read my mind, sis' 😉

The thing I'm most excited to write is called Project Legacy for now and it's a Sam Wilson x OC x Bucky Barnes inspired by "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" tv show I rewatched this week 😅

Here's a little unedited WiP:

Sam stretched his shoulders, the shield strapped to his arm. “So, what exactly are we doing here, Coach?” Ellie stood with her arms crossed, her stance relaxed but commanding. She wore simple workout gear, her hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail. “You two are about to give me everything you’ve got. I need to see what I’m working with.” Bucky scoffed, rolling his neck. “We’re not exactly amateurs.” Ellie smirked, the faintest trace of Steve’s charm in her expression. “Oh, I know. But I need to see how you fight—how you think. Dad always said the shield isn’t just a weapon. It’s a responsibility. Let’s see if you’ve learned that yet, Sam.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “And if I pass?” “Then we move on to the hard stuff.” Ellie’s smile turned sharper as she gestured toward the sparring ring. “But first, let’s start with something simple. Both of you—against me.” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Both of us?” Ellie shrugged. “Unless you’re scared.” Sam and Bucky exchanged a glance. “Oh, she’s got jokes,” Sam muttered. They stepped into the ring, Bucky cracking his knuckles while Sam adjusted his grip on the shield. Ellie didn’t even flinch, her stance remaining loose, almost casual. “Any rules?” Sam asked. Ellie tilted her head. “Just one—don’t hold back. You won’t hurt me.” Bucky snorted. “Alright, don’t say we didn’t warn you.” The two men lunged at the same time, Bucky going high while Sam went low. Ellie moved like water, sidestepping Sam’s charge and deflecting Bucky’s punch with an effortless block. Her movements were precise, almost calculated, as if she could see their attacks coming before they made them. “Not bad,” she said, ducking under Bucky’s swing and sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt. Sam came at her from behind, the shield raised, but Ellie twisted at the last second, grabbing the edge and using his momentum to flip him over her shoulder. He landed on his back with a thud, the shield slipping from his grip. Ellie caught it midair, spinning it in her hand like it weighed nothing. “This is why I wanted to train you.” Bucky got back to his feet, brushing dirt off his pants. “Okay, so she’s good.” “Good?” Sam wheezed, getting back on his feet. “She’s terrifying.” Ellie chuckled, tossing the shield back to Sam. He caught it awkwardly, still trying to catch his breath. “Alright,” she said, crossing her arms. “That was the warm-up. Now we get serious.”

I can't wait 😁

Thanks again for the ask, sis', you're the best 😉💖

[tophits]

Tô Voltando - Ana Castela

Tô Voltando - Ana Castela #anacastela #musica #sertanejo Letra Eu vou 'tar bem longe quando você receber essa carta, oh oh Eu vou preferir sentir saudade que viver essa farsa Coisa que eu não sou (coisa que eu não sou) Não é final, amanhã ou depois Uma noite é normal Dar saudade nos dois, pois é Pena que agora, agora, minha saudade é outra Oh, oh, oh, oh 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou Oh oh oh oh Não é final, amanhã ou depois Uma noite é normal Dar saudade nos dois, pois é Pena que agora, agora, minha saudade é outra Oh, oh, oh, oh 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh Eu vou 'tar bem longe quando você receber essa cartaEu vou 'tar bem longe quando você receber essa carta, oh oh Eu vou preferir sentir saudade que viver essa farsa Coisa que eu não sou (coisa que eu não sou) Não é final, amanhã ou depois Uma noite é normal Dar saudade nos dois, pois é Pena que agora, agora, minha saudade é outra Oh, oh, oh, oh 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou Oh oh oh oh Não é final, amanhã ou depois Uma noite é normal Dar saudade nos dois, pois é Pena que agora, agora, minha saudade é outra Oh, oh, oh, oh 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou 'To voltando pros rodeio Pra vida do interior Na cidade o converseiro é que ela é da roça E não se acostumou Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh Eu vou 'tar bem longe quando você receber essa carta sertanejo, tophits, hits, hits 2023, músicas 2023, sertanejo, música sertaneja, tô voltando, música tô voltando, ana castela, tô voltando ana castela, mais tocadas, devd ana castela, ana castela boiadeira,

[tom2tec]

DSBMixer ~ FreeBSD Tabbed Qt Mixer

DSBMixer is a tabbed Qt mixer for FreeBSD. For each installed mixer device, DSBMixer opens a tab. It allows you to configure various sound settings, such as amplification, recording sources, or the default audio device. If built with devd support, tabs are created or removed automatically when a (USB) sound card was added to or removed from the system. github.com/mrclksr/DSBMixer

[mushkhushshu]

i FINALLY devd those 4x5s. came out ok. will scan later (we'll see how that goes). they are an efke 25 and a tri-x 320. good stuff. exposures fine, tiny bit of fog (whatever), a couple weird developing artifacts... i have a very bare-bones budget setup, so nothing out of the ordinary. they're drying right now, so i'll "scan" (using either a printer or a phone camera) when that is done. til then i'll be listening to joan of arc and washing the fixer off of my hands